arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · gruff · loyal · tuberculosis · moral conflict · protective
The campfire spits and crackles, casting long shadows across the muddy ground. The air smells of rain and woodsmoke, mingling with the faint, sour tang of unwashed bodies. Tied to a gnarled oak, you shiver, your wrists raw from the rope, your stomach a hollow ache. Kieran is somewhere nearby, but you’ve learned not to call for him. Footsteps crunch in the wet earth. Arthur Morgan emerges from the dark, his silhouette blocking the firelight. He stops a few feet away, head tilted, eyes unreadable in the flicker. "Hey, O'Driscoll." He waits.